Blood Legacy
by VampBirdie01
Summary: Mourning the loss of her legendary father, Arnold Schoenberg, Billie is thrust into the dramas of St. Vladimirs Academy. She is fierce and determined to prove herself beside her father's heavy legacy, but what happens when she's drawn to the selfish and forbidden Jesse Zeklos? She fights her emotions, her teachers and struggles to find who she can trust in her new life. Jesse/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! I'm really excited for this story! It's definitely different from the mainstream of fanfics, especially because I'm pretty sure no one else has written a Jesse Zeklos story. :) Even though this is very original and different, I hope people give it a chance and read it! I'm looking forward to it, anyway. If you have any questions and want to know anything particular about this story, feel free to PM or just review and I'll get back to you! I'm going to attempt to write two stories at once, so please bare with me! Thanks for reading! xx**

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**Billie**

The private driver was withdrawn and definitely not friendly enough to participate in small talk with me, which made the drive from the airport extremely dull. I fidgeted and tapped on the window rhythmically until the driver sent me warning glares, and I stopped reluctantly.

I'd opted to finally fish my iPod out of my bag and plug in my earphones, and let the music bounce in my ears loudly. I closed my eyes, hoping to catch at least some sort of sleep before I arrived at the Badicas. I rested my temple against the card door window, singing along to the lyrics in my head, deciding it was best not to annoy the driver any more than I already had. The roads were smooth and the sleek car drove with ease across the bitumen.

"Miss Schoenberg!" The driver snapped irritably, his eyes blazing with impatience once I'd laid my sleepy gaze on him. I had a feeling he'd been trying to get my attention for a while. I grinned sheepishly, and pulled one earphone out, letting it hang down by waist lifelessly.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, and pushed open the car door. "Thanks, driver," I appreciatively told the man, not having remembered his name from when he introduced himself at the airport. He just rolled his eyes, nodding. I slammed the door shut and slung my overnight, duffle bag over my shoulder casually. I gave the driver a sloppy wave, and faced the luxuriously one-story rambler style house. It was built with grey wood sidings, tinted bay windows. I squinted at the thickly-layered snow-covered path and driveway. Obviously, everyone was too lazy to shovel the compacted snow out of the front yard. I frowned, glancing up at the high, glowing moon. The Badicas lived on a nocturnal schedule; they would either be inside awake, or gone to town to take care of any needed business. I inspected the many footprint tracks in the snow, and paused curiously. They all appeared quite fresh.

A blood-curdling scream echoed loudly from inside the house, and my stomach clenched in horror.

I spun around frantically, but the driver had already long disappeared during my inspection of the house. I threw my bag off my shoulder, and sprinted along the snow-covered path towards the front door, my breaths escaping my parted lips in wild clouds. The door was slightly ajar, and I was about to barge through, but instead I halted, calming my panicked breaths, and slowly pushed open the door, each movement carried out with precise quiet grace. My eyes blurred with scared tears, and I hastily blinked them away, moulding my posture into one of a warrior. I needed to be strong. It's what I'd been trained for since I was a tiny child. I was going to be a Guardian – this was my first incident, even if I technically wasn't a promised Guardian yet. It didn't matter, not now.

I crept down the carpeted hall, my back pressing against the walls as I went. I surveyed the rooms as I went, making sure they were clear. Realistically, my mind was reeling with horror, because I was completely defenceless. I had no weapons, no stake, or anything to distract the attackers with. I reached the living room, where the loud noises were coming from.

My heart plummeted. My father stood, his stance strong and powerful as he fought off two Strigoi at once, his face stoic and determined. He looked hopeless though. His eyes glowed with discreetly hidden defeat. He thought he was going to lose.

It was the first time I'd ever seen Strigoi. Their invisible auras pulsed with cold callousness, and their eyes were ringed with crimson red. Chalky pale hands attacked my father, and my heart inflated like a balloon – a balloon of fierce steel.

They hadn't noticed me yet, too distracted by their battle with my father. I narrowed my eyes and clenched my fists, before attacking the closest Strigoi, my fist swinging powerfully into his cleared stomach. He blinked, surprised by my sudden appearance. I glared at him, and sharply threw my closed fist towards him again. I'd never fought a Strigoi before, and I'd clearly underestimated their true strength and speed. He seemed invincible, and caught my wrist easily, grinning maliciously at me.

"Well, well… What do we have here?" In a blur, he twisted me around, so my back was pressed against his chest. A chill ran down my back like icy water, and I trembled. He bent his mouth down by my ear, and brushed my hair away from my neck, exposing my collarbone. I shivered in terror as his heartless chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating on my back. "Arnold Schoenberg's little girl has come to save the day." A tear escaped the corner of my eye, but I didn't acknowledge the salty substance as my life was dangled right before my eyes. I was going to die. I wasn't going to get to even say hello to my papa. Pathetically, my tear clung to my jaw, not parting from my skin.

Suddenly, a newfound strength, one full of adrenaline force and determination, pulsed through my blood. My eyes blazed with fierce power, a power that I'd inherited from my father. I was going to make him proud; I was going to show him how good I was. I couldn't just curl up and cry. I was a _Guardian_. I was going to fight like one too.

My teeth gritting, I forced my elbow into his stomach, and drew my knee to my stomach, before I threw the sole of my foot backwards with a grunt, slamming it into his kneecap. He flinched behind me, and I tore myself free from his grip.

"Billie!" My father cried out, and quickly threw his silver stake towards me. I didn't have time to catch it though, and the Strigoi advanced towards me in a blur. His hands stretched towards my neck, and I ducked swiftly, ramming my fist into his stomach for the second time, my body crouched underneath his. He closed down over top of me, his arms wrapping around my waist. I grunted through my clenched teeth, and knocked the crown of my head into his jaw violently. I rolled out underneath him, reaching for the stake that was inches from my fingertips. But the Strigoi recovered quickly, and he slammed the sole of his boot on my wrist, making me cry out in agony as the bone snapped audibly underneath his foot. My eyes pinched together in pain as the Strigoi tilted his head back and laughed, the sound rough and cold. My feet were free, though, and my abs clenched tightly as I drew up one foot, hooking it around the back of his knee, and I used the other to smash it into his crotch. I drew my foot back and went to hit again, but his fingers caught my dirtied, slippery boot, curling around the leather material. Quite easily, I managed to rip my slippery shoe from his hand, and I swung it around into his leg that was still atop my wrist, twisting my body around to add force behind the attack. He leaned down, his eyes raging dangerously, and he grabbed a handful of my hair. I took hold of the opportunity, and pulled the tip of my boot high above my head, and hit the Strigoi in the throat forcefully. He gargled for a split moment, loosening his hold on my golden blonde hair. I slammed my elbow on his forearm, and squirmed to reached for the stake as he lowered himself on top of me, an evil, merciless glint in his sinister eyes. My fingers stretched for the silver stake, but it was barely an inch from the tips of my fingers. I shivered in dread as his lips closed in on the skin of my exposed neck. He pushed strands of my hair from my neck, and inhaled deeply, his icy lips still pressed on my neck.

"You smell delectable," he murmured, his voice still cold. "Nearly as good as a Moroi, I bet…" He bared his fangs, the sharp teeth only gently piercing my skin, brushing along my neckline. A chill washed through my entire body in revulsion, and my fingers continued stretching for the stake, until I finally found the cool silver object. The Strigoi plunged his fangs deep, and I let out a cry of pure agony as the pain sunk in. My mouth opened wide, and my eyes squeezed shut in torture, a tear slipping out the corner. I drew in a gasped breath, and curled my fingers around the stake, and in one thorough effort, I drove the stake into his back. Frantic to reach his heart before he moved, I cried out as I pushed it in further, throwing more strength behind it as I manoeuvred it through his muscle and spine. Grunting, I pushed again, and the stake finally hit his heart. His eyes widened as he gasped in pain, his mouth dripping with blood. _My blood_.

His lifeless body collapsed on top of me, and I groaned as I pushed the heavy weight off me, not wasting time in climbing back to my feet. I hissed in pain as my wrist thrummed in distress. Gritting my teeth, I looked to my father, who was still standing his ground against the Strigoi, but the more weak my father got, the more bored the Strigoi seemed to get.

I reached down the rip the stake from my killed Strigoi's back, grasping it tightly in my closed palm. I advanced towards my father and his Strigoi, until suddenly I was grabbed roughly from behind. I cried out loudly as my wrist was tugged violently. Tears flowed down my cheeks, and my heart was pumping in my ears. Both my wrists were bound behind my back, and the chilly breath of a Strigoi was blown on my bloody, damaged neck.

I didn't waste time in standing captive in this undead's man hold, and I grounded my teeth together, bracing myself for the pain I anticipated was going to come. I threw my head back, smashing it into the shorter Strigoi's nose. He fumbled slightly, and I twisted around, still miraculously holding onto my bloodied stake in a deathgrip. Unable to stake him yet, not having the right opening, I grazed the stake on his arm, and he hissed ravenously. I narrowed my eyes and drew the stake back, before plunging it into his throat. He spluttered a violent roar, his body rumbling in pain. I pulled the stake out, and shoved the weakened Strigoi against the wall, the force making the mounted framed pictures shudder. I swiftly threw myself into the Strigoi, planting the stake directly into his chest. Grunting in high discomfort as my wrist burned with agony, I shoved again, pushing the stake in further and twisting around the ribs and muscles until I pierced his heart. He bellowed deafeningly, before he collapsed to the ground.

I barely had a moment to blink, and already another Strigoi grasped me, and threw me into the glass coffee table. I stumbled forward, and I crashed into the table, falling to my knees under the impact and scraping my jaw along the jagged glass. I was barely a foot from the Strigoi who was fighting my father, and my father barely seemed to be holding on. The Strigoi had obviously been a dhampir before he was awakened, and he had been a damn good one. His techniques and skills were impeccable. Tears still flowed down my cheeks, and merged with the heavy blood stream. My knotted hair was suddenly yanked harshly, and I cried out as I was wrenched to my feet once more.

"How would you like to see your own father die?" The Strigoi hissed in my ear with sick humour. "I bet you're a daddy's girl, hm?" The Strigoi chuckled. "It's your fault, you know, you can't even protect your own father from dying."

Tears silently flooded my cheeks continuously, soaking my face. The Strigoi had his elbow hooked around my throat, barely letting me breath. His other arm was hoisting my arms behind my back, locking them in place firmly. I tugged and squirmed, but it was completely invalid. I was growing weak, I didn't have enough strength and my adrenaline was draining.

My father was literally like poetry in motion, even when he was weakened and tired. He moved with indescribable grace and attacked and blocked perfectly. He had thrown me his stake, but he had another one in his belt, which he'd tried to retrieve, but it had been batted across the living room by his Strigoi. My father ducked, and landed a blow in the Strigoi's stomach. The Strigoi took advantage of the position my father was in, below him, and wrapped his slick long fingers around my father's throat, making him choke and gasp for breath. He tried to wrench from the hold, but like me, he was tired, and the Strigoi surged his fist into my father's abdominal, making him gasp and falter.

My knees buckled in horror. _He faltered_.

The Strigoi was almost like a blur, and he bared his fangs with sickening enjoyment. Before I could even blink, he sunk his fangs into my father, drinking his blood. My father's eyes were wide in terrified shock. His eyes met mine, over the Strigoi's shoulder.

"_No_!" I screamed, my voice high-pitched and penetrating the air. "Papa!" I cried, struggling in the Strigoi's arms. I squirmed and flailed, writhing in his grasp. Tears streaked down my reddened cheeks faster, speeding as I grew more hysterical.

"This is your fault," the Strigoi whispered in my ear, and I choked on my cries, crumbling.

"You can have me! Take me!" I screamed, thrashing. "_Take me_."

"No, little Schoenberg," the Strigoi breathed coldly, while the Strigoi feeding on my father didn't acknowledge me. "You're _mine_." I screamed again, my throat raw and aching.

"No! Papa…" My voice broke into a crumpled whisper, and my body shook brutally.

My eyes were set on my father's like concrete, and he stared back, his eyelids weighing down heavily. His arms were hanging loosely by his sides, and the Strigoi was the only thing keeping him on his feet. His parted lips weakly mouthed something to me, but I couldn't decipher his message, and more hot tears rolled down my face. His eyes closed again, and he mouthed it once more.

_I love you_, he mouthed.

He didn't open his eyes again.

The Strigoi pulled back from his neck, and carelessly dropped his body. He turned towards us casually, waving his hand in a gesture.

"Hurry up, Gregory, the others have already left," he informed the Strigoi clutching me.

I stared at him, and then I opened my mouth to scream, but instead of hysterical noises, I vomited all over my father's murderer. The retched substance splattered over his chest and splashed on his chin, before wetly trailing down his shirt and onto his pants.

His nostrils flared in rage, and he stepped towards me.

"If you don't take care of this stupid bitch, Gregory, I will do it myself."

I inwardly smirked at the opportunity he gave me, and immediately grasped it, and threw my foot up, squarely hitting him in the crotch. I twisted around in Gregory's arms, and elbowed him in the face. He flinched, and I elbowed him again, before punching him in the throat. He snarled in fury, but I ducked from his blow, and punched him in the groin before crawling over to the other Strigoi's body, which was still impaled by my stake. As I ripped the object from his chest, a hand seized hold of my ankle, and I didn't make a sound as I swung my other leg around and knocked it strongly into Gregory's face. He loosened his grip, and I wrenched my ankle from his grip, climbing to me feet and lunging towards him, plunging the stake straight into his heart. My eyes blazing fiercely with willpower and grit, I only pushed the stake once more and it punctured his heart. I didn't look at him again, and I didn't have the chance to when the last Strigoi shoved Gregory's body several feet away before I could pull my stake from his body. My eyes widened, and the Strigoi looked at me with a sinful gaze.

"I'm sorry about your father," he told me, and then a cruel grin grew on his face. "I'm sure you want to bravely avenge his death, though. Go ahead." He smirked and spread his arms out, giving me a clear view of his chest. _His vomit-covered chest_.

I didn't attack him though – that would have been useless, because I was weapon less. I didn't have time to stop and pulled out the stake in Gregory's heart, because I could very easily be killed with turning my back like that. I looked around helplessly, discreetly not moving my head as I gazed around at my surroundings. A plan quickly unfolded and formed in my mind, and I began slowly retreating towards the wall, pressing my back against it. The Strigoi just laughed tauntingly.

"Giving up already?" He chuckled. "How disappointed and disgusted your father will be… Tut tut." He smirked predatorily, moving towards me gradually. I gritted my teeth, and he took another step close, only a foot away.

I lurched into action, reaching up above my head and tearing the framed picture off the wall, and swinging it into the Strigoi's face, creating a distraction. I squarely punched him in the face and kicked him in the groin for good measure, before I ran. I sprinted into the kitchen, ripping open the drawers and hurriedly searching through them. I caught sight of a large butcher knife on the bench, in a wooden knife block. I ripped it out of the block and swung around, and screamed when I found the Strigoi standing behind me, his mouth twisted in a nasty smirk.

"Nice effect," he drawled, and I drew the knife from behind my back, aiming to stab him in the throat. He snarled and grabbed my forearm, blocking the attack. His eyes narrowed into slits and he squeezed my arm tightly until the knife fell from my grasp while I cried out. I shrank down, pushing myself as far from him as possible as he glared wickedly at me.

I grounded my teeth together and flashed the other knife I'd gotten from the drawer, and stabbed him in the arm. He blanched and retracted his tight grip. I ducked and grabbed the butcher knife, and stood up, positioning quickly in a powerful stance, before I swung the knife around and sliced through his neck. I grunted and drew up my leg before launching it into his stomach and knocking him back into the archway of the kitchen.

"You killed my father," I breathed. I didn't say one more word as I continued working the sharp butcher knife through his neck, as he roared and writhed. I sent blowed to his stomach continuously and made sure the knife in his arm stayed there. I withdrew the butcher knife, before plunging it directly through the middle of his throat, straight through his spinal cord. I clenched my jaw and stabbed him repeatedly in the neck, hysteric.

He spluttered and choked up clots of blood, which landed on the front of my torn and bloodied jacket.

I cried out as I ploughed the knife through his throat, until he buckled and slid down to the ground. I shook with violent tremors, and let out a gut-wrenching sob as his head completely parted from the rest of his body, and rolled down his front, landing on the kitchen floor. I trembled profoundly, and the butcher knife slipped from his loosely clasping fingers, and clattered on the floor. My knees distorted feebly, and I gripped the blood-stained archway so I didn't fall.

I stared down at the decapitated Strigoi corpse, my body wracking with quakes.

I turned away, and pressed my palm against the walls for support as I made my way back into the living room, where the pale blue carpet was stained with splatters of blood. I noticed the other bodies that scattered around the house, ones that I hadn't had time to study when I first entered.

_Everyone was dead_.

I pushed along the back of the couch, and then I found sight of my father's body lying lifelessly, his bloodied neck having stained the carpet.

My eyes were contorted with emotion, emotion that was fighting to break free and be let loose. My father's golden blonde hair, like my own, had grey streaks, but was red with dried blood. His clothes were spattered with crimson stains. His neck was ripped and torn, still bleeding after the Strigoi had drained him.

The longer I stared and looked at my father's fresh dead body, the more quivers that took control of my body. My chapped lips parted, silently, and my eyes began blinking feverously, making my bruised left eyelid ache tenderly, trying to get rid of the stinging tears. My knees were buckling weakly. My lips parted wider, and suddenly, the wild emotions erupted.

A blood-curdling sob wrenched from my lunges, and I fell to my knees beside my father's body. Shaking violently, I bent and sobbed. Tears streaked my cheeks hotly, the salty wetness mounting my lips before falling into my parted mouth. I cried out hysterically, pulling my father's body onto my lap, not even caring at all about the blood that immediately blemished my jeans. I wept loudly, shakily running my red-stained fingers through his golden locks. He was such a handsome man. He was known as a world-class legend as a Guardian, and even well after his prime, he was an invincible force to be reckoned with. _Until now_. My fingertips lightly brushed across his scarred face, which ran across his cheekbones, jawline and his forehead, one cutting through and scarring his eyebrow. His scars completed him – they made him who he was. They showed people how powerful and strong he was. My tears splashed on his paled face, and rolled down his cold cheeks.

I gave another helpless, tortured scream, burying my face in my father's unbitten side of his neck, sobbing.

I leaned against the couch, clutching my father's unmoving body in my arms as I closed my eyes with exhausted. I was so… so tired.

I had a feeling I fell asleep, still sobbing in my unconscious state, rocking my father's body in my arms. My heated cheeks pressed against his, my arms curled around his body with hysterical protectiveness. I'd let him down – I couldn't protect him, I couldn't protect anyone. This was _my_ fault. All of it.

_How disappointed and disgusted your father will be…_

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**How'd you like it? It's pretty much complete action, and I liked writing it and imagining it all in my mind, it was pretty badass, haha. Please review, favourite, follow, etc... Even a smiley face or ****_anything_**** will satify me! Next chapter should be up soon, I'm a pretty fast uploader, so you're all lucky! Feel free to also check out my other story, Beneath The Surface, which is in progress and I'm really enjoying it. Both these stories are looking great so far, I'm lovin' them! :D thanks xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! I'm back with a second chapter, haha. I am disappointed with the views from the first chapter, but I know I've gotta build it up... After all, a 4k 1 chapter story isn't really appealing. Hopefully my inspiration with stick with me for this story, and I will end up finishing it! Anyway, enjoy!**

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I was pried from my troubled slumber when voices rang in my ears. I rolled my head around, adjusting its supported position against the couch. My mid-section couldn't move, though, there was a heavy weight resting atop of me. I moaned slightly, peeling my eyes open.

"She's alive," there was an incredulously toned voice. I squinted, my vision blurred and unsteady. Two people stood above me, the older man several feet away, crouching by a body. The girl standing above me was about five-seven, and she was very beautiful, with dark brown hair and exotically tanned skin. She looked around my age, while the male appeared several years old, mid-twenties, and he had shoulder-length brown hair combed back into a tie at the nape of his neck. His sharp features faced me as he craned his neck around, his dark eyes looking at me in surprise.

My lips parted dryly, and I licked them in an attempt to make them moist. My tongue was dry though, and my throat ached from thirst. How long had it been since I had something to drink? I grimaced as I swallowed, and I gazed around at my surroundings, my blue-grey eyes immediately landing on the weight that was lying on top of me.

I gave a strangled cry as I recognized the person – the _body_ – that was cold and stiff in my arms. I could recognise that marred face, those golden, silver-streaked thinned strands. _My father_. My fingertips slowly reached to his face, and lightly touched his skin, tracing the scars that adorned his features. His skin was icy cold under my touch, and I trembled in horror.

_He was dead_.

I noticed the dried, bloody wound on his neck, and I pressed my quivering lips together.

I drew in a choked breath as all the memories exploded in my mind. The Strigoi, the fighting, the staking, my father… Everything tumbled through my mind like a boulder, sending a headache erupting through my skull. I cried out, a fresh load of tears falling down my cheeks.

The girl inched closer, and I suddenly screamed, the sound feral and hysterical. I curled over my father's body, clutching it tightly and sobbing uncontrollably.

"Rose, just step back," the male's voice murmured, the sound floating by my ears.

My fingers groped my father's torn shirt, my knuckles turning white. My whole body wracked with sobs, and my throat ached tremendously from closing up tightly.

"Papa," I whispered brokenly, tears falling in my opened mouth. "I'm so sorry, Papa."

My heart twisted and yearned, my normally cheerful façade completely diminished. It felt like my insides, my intestines and organs were being repeatedly stabbed and ripped into little pieces. My face burned, coloured red with not only heat, but also smeared blood. My head was pounding with an increasingly painful headache, and my entire body ached and screamed in protest every time I moved less than an inch. Even without inspecting my body, I knew how many battered bruises and wounds that blemished my skin.

"What do we do?" The girl whispered uncertainly. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing away anything that interfered with my hysterical hunch over my father's body.

Suddenly, combat boots entered my peripheral vision, and I jumped in scarce fear, screaming out hysterically as I tightened my grip on my father's battered and stained shirt. The boots didn't move back, and I cried out with fear, burying my face in my father's unmoving chest.

"Miss Schoenberg?" A smooth, quiet voice murmured, and the male crouched down, so he was level with my height. I jerked away and my reddened eyes blazed at him. "Miss Schoenberg," he tried again, "you need to let go of him." _Him_… My father.

My expression faltered, tears still rolling down the worn tracks of my cheeks. "How?" I whispered, my voice cracked and broken. His Guardian mask, the one so many Guardians wore constantly, slipped, and then he completely discarded the barrier that hid his emotions, and he looked at me with bottomless dark brown eyes.

My question didn't really make sense – it could be taken several different ways.

The man studied me, and then answered in a soft voice. "Loosen your hands," he directed me gently. I trembled as I followed his order slowly. He gave the tiniest smile, one of encouragement and support. "Now, I want you to carefully lift him up, and I'll pull him off, then you move from underneath." My lips parted dryly, and I choked emotionally, before carrying out his directions. I ignored the pain that screamed torturously at me, thundering in my wounded muscles and bones.

I trembled vulnerably as I slowly pushed out from underneath my father's cold corpse, and unsteadily got to my feet, stumbling and crying out hopelessly. Even I knew I was a complete wreck.

The girl stepped forward and caught me, while grimacing as if waiting for me to be swallowed my random hysterics again. The girl slowly relaxed, and slipped her arm around my waist, keeping me on my feet.

The male was surveying my father's body, and I felt incredibly protective, wanting to scream at him for even thinking of touching my father. He suddenly glanced up, and his eyes wandered from both me and the girl holding me up.

"The guardians are here," he quietly told us, mainly the coherent girl. I wasn't exactly in great knack at the moment. The girl secured her hold around me, as if bracing both of us for what was to come.

Honestly, as soon as a swarm of Guardians infested the Badica house, I buried my face in the girl's shoulder, willing myself not to see anything they were going to do. No doubt, they would touch and probe my father's body, as well as every other body in this house. I didn't want to see that – I didn't want to fall apart again. I needed to keep it together – like my father would've wanted.

But I was still pathetic enough to hide my face, squeezing my eyes shut as Rose continued to hold me, my face buried in her parka as I desperately tried to get rid of the nightmare that was becoming reality.

I knew my father was in a dangerous line of work, because that was exactly how I was going to live, and people constantly surrounding me were also surrounded by that danger as well. But as much as I used to cry as a child, wondering if someday my dad would just never come home, I always thought deep down that he was an invincible legend – a warrior. He was in the history books, the back of his neck was covered in impressive, breath-taking _molnija_ tattoos, and his face and name was known all across the world. He was still a Guardian, a mortal like every other Guardian, but I struggled to picture him dead, _gone_.

Even when he was constantly working, always dedicated whole-heartedly to his job, he was always _there_. He was always a part of my life, always there in case I needed him. His collegues, as well as his charges over the many years, respected him greatly and they often came to my school so my father could see me. _He was always there_.

Now he wasn't.

Now he was gone.

"Miss Schoenberg," the male, who I learnt was Dimitri Belikov, called my attention. I remembered my father a few years ago mentioning Dimitri, telling me how he was an outstanding Guardian and surpassed many others despite his age. He was only twenty-four and he already made a very well respected name for himself. "We just need to ask you a few questions, then we can sort something out." He told me, and I knew he was implying about where I was going to go now, and how quickly I was going to be dumped there. I assumed I would just be going back to Alder and continue school. I didn't know what else there was to sort out.

I seized a shaky breath and pulled my face from the girl, Rose, and I slipped my expression into a mask that I had learned from the Guardians who surrounded me my whole life. I needed to be strong, I just needed to get through this interrogation and then I could go home. I could go back to Alder, back to my friends.

I swallowed deeply and studied the Guardians around me. I easily recognized Tamara, a girl my father had mentored when she was younger. She gave a small smile to me, nodding supportively. I tried to return the smile, but it felt weird and foreign on my face, and I stopped.

"Billie, did you cause any of the deaths of these Strigoi?" Tamara gently asked me, gesturing to the undead corpses. The other bodies, like that of my father's, had been removed from the house and I didn't know where they were at the moment.

I stared heavily at the ground. "I killed all four." There were sharp gasps of shock and disbelief, but I kept my eyes trained on the floor. I wasn't going to look up.

"Were there any other Strigoi when you arrived?"

"No. They were the only ones here." I emotionlessly answered, my words thick.

"Who was alive when you first came into the house?"

"Only my father."

"Miss Schoenberg, did you see any humans accompanying the Strigoi?"

I jerked my head up, staring at Guardian Belikov in incredulity. "No. I don't-" I faltered, and my voice dropped to a whisper. "They broke the wards, didn't they?"

The silence was enough to answer my question.

My head fell forwards again, and my lower lip trembled dangerously. How stupid was this? Humans caused my father's death. After the countless near deaths experiences he'd had, the threats he'd faced, his death was a human's fault. I just wanted to break down and cry at the stupidity of this entire situation. Why? My mask slipped off, slack, and my heart twisted in my chest. Why…

"Billie, you'll have to return to Alder Academy," Tamara lightly told me. "I'm assuming there will be a joint funeral service, and you will be informed of the details later. Your father's will shall be looked over as quickly and efficiently as possible, and the next course of action will be decided soon."

I didn't ask the questions that milled through my mind – I didn't have the energy and I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answers.

I just nodded simply.

"Guardian Belikov has offered to drive you to the airport, and you will fly back to Alder Academy." My eyes briefly found Guardian Belikov's, and I nodded once again. I needed to leave, I needed to get away from this house. My skin still crawled, as if a Strigoi was standing behind me constantly. I wanted to vomit.

"I'll try to contact you personally," Tamara told me kindly, "but I apologize in advance if I'm not able to do it myself." I didn't say anything, but I hoped she knew how much I appreciated her support and efforts to help me. I didn't want to say anything now; I didn't know when I would, honestly. What was really important to talk about anymore? What was worth chatting about when my father was starting to rot away as a dead corpse?

The Guardians and myself didn't linger at the house for long, and Guardian Belikov and Rose led me outside, into the icy weather. I shuddered, but it wasn't from the cold. I swallowed and shook my thoughts away.

Following a few steps behind Rose and Guardian Belikov, I froze as I stepped on a solid object that was covered in thick snow. I furrowed my brows and cautiously bent down, digging my bared hand through the chilled snow. Realization dawned on me as I uncovered the mystery object, my eyes watering for some reason as a sense of misery struck me. It was my iPod.

I almost choked on my own uneasy breath as I remembered how much had happened since I'd dropped this when I sprinted inside the Badicas' house. My life had completely changed since this object slipped from my pocket, tearing the plugged earphone from my ear and falling into the snow. My entire world was upside down now.

"Miss Schoenberg?" Guardian Belikov hesitantly called, and I brushed the snow off the iPod as I looked over to where both Rose and Guardian Belikov were standing, watching me carefully. I straightened up, gripping the iPod tightly in my clenched fingers.

"Call me Billie," I choked raspily, my voice sounding terrible and scratchy. I winced and walked to the left of Rose, where a unique lump of snow was. I pushed the snow away, feeling around for the strap of my duffle bag. Finding it, I pulled it from the snow, and grimaced at how wet it looked. Oh well, I would have to get them washed when I got back to Alder. I blew out a breath between my teeth hand slowly walked by the two, still standing and eyeing me, and I climbed in the backseat of the car. Shortly after, they both joined me inside the car.

I knew they felt too awkward to start a conversation of their own as I sat in the backseat, lost in my thoughts as I thumbed the screen of my iPod. Guardian Belikov paused as he started the engine, and he glanced in the rear mirror.

"You can call me Dimitri, Billie," he told me sincerely. I studied his expression in the mirror reflection, before nodding, and closing my eyes in utter exhaustion. I'd fallen asleep in the living room on the floor, clutching my father's body, but that couldn't count as sleep. I wasn't sure if I actually was sleeping then, or I'd just turned completely numb and shut down.

My fingers still ran along the smooth, yet slightly scratched, edges of the iPod, and I kept my eyes closed, although I didn't sleep. No matter my exhaustion and weariness, I didn't know if I ever wanted to sleep. My reality nightmares would only follow me mercilessly into my dreams. I could never escape them. I could never forgot what happened, and what I'd faced today.

It didn't take very long to reach the airport at Billings, and it was only a small, private airplane that would take me a marginal distance of the way to Alder, then I would take one of the Academy's jets to get to the school.

My fingers curled around the straps of my damp duffle bag, and I pushed open the car door, giving a miserably executed smile to Rose and Dimitri.

"Thank you," I told them both, my eyes glossing with honesty. I couldn't pinpoint one exact thing I was thanking them for – I guessed it was for everything. I turned away before I burst into tears again, and I hurried across the tarmac to the small plane waiting for me. I gave a shaky breath as I climbed aboard, and didn't look back to the car once. I was afraid I would completely fall apart before the plane made it into the air.

The plane rides were both uneventful and passed by quickly, although in a way they took forever. I didn't want to see anyone, I didn't want to talk to anyone and try my awfully worn stoic mask again. I was no good at hiding my emotions, and usually, I didn't even want to. Hiding emotions didn't make you a good Guardian, my father taught me.

Once arriving on the grounds of Alder, I ducked my head low and hurried across the campus to the girls' novices' dorms. It was about lunch time on the nocturnal schedule, and everyone would be in the cafeteria eating, or at the feeders. I scurried up to my room and shut the door, locking it behind me.

I didn't even recognize what I was doing as I tore off the blankets from my bed, and dove underneath; finally convinced no one was going to see me burst into hysterical sobs in my bed. I just… shattered.

_I miss you, papa_…

I woke up to the incessant banging on my door, fists pounding on the wood and shouts of impatience. I recognized the voices quite easily.

They were my friends. Frankie and Quinton, two fellow dhampir novices. My partners in crime, ever since I was five years old. First attending Alder, we ran away from our teachers because they wanted to play a game called _I Spy_, but we wanted to play hide-and-seek. On our adventure around the complex grounds, we came across the senior novices, training to become Guardians. They were all incredible, and we climbed up in a tree and watched them for the rest of the day in awe. We wanted to be _just_ like them, and after that day, we stuck together like glue.

I moaned tiredly, wincing painfully as my sore body screeched in protest at my mind as I crawled out of my bed, and padded across the room to the door. I rubbed me eyes, hissing as I momentarily forgot about my black, bruised eye.

I unlocked the door, a habit I'd only picked up after the nightmare at the Badicas' house, and pulled it open, my eyes still half-shut sleepily.

"Billie?" Frankie gasped, his eyes widening in horror as he looked at me. I gazed back in sleepy confusion, and then I peered down at my appearance, before I blinked, my lips parting dryly. I was still wearing the torn, bloodied clothes from the fight at the Badicas'. My face fell in misery as I looked back to Frankie and Quinton.

They were both very handsome young men. Frankie was a curly-haired brunette with an unruly mop of hair that was constantly scolded by the Guardians at Alder. He was a complete and utter flirt, but it was all with a heart of gold and Frankie would never consider emotionally hurting anyone. Although, he was not someone to mess with in a brawl. He was a novice full of passion and determination – he definitely loved his fighting, just like I did.

Quinton was of African-American origin, and although there weren't many dark-skinned novices and students around, Quinton fit in like he was the heart of Alder. Quinton, like Frankie, enjoyed his ceaseless flirting and suggestive comments, but he had to be the most adorably warm-hearted person I'd ever met, alongside Frankie, of course, and he was always the understanding ear I turned to when I had problems. Although, honestly, Frankie was just as understanding and both of those boys helped me out like my very own brothers. We didn't need to be blood-related to be family.

"We heard, baby girl," Quinton softly told me, and pieces of my feeble guard began breaking apart and completely dissipating. My eyes brimmed with unshed tears and I began trembling. Quinton's face melted in heartbroken torture as he watched me start to fall apart, and he stepped forward immediately and swept me into a warm, comforting embrace. Frankie quickly joined, and he rubbed my lower back soothingly as tears began to roll down my cheeks.

The tightly bound embrace was shuffled to my bed, and we eventually got into a comfortable position, with Frankie at the headboard of the bed, my head resting on his stomach as I lay between his parted legs, and then my own feet were perched on Quinton's lap, who was leaning against the wall, at the foot of the bed. Quinton was absentmindedly massaging my feet, and Frankie was twirling his fingers through my hair in fascination.

"Baby girl, can you tell us what happened?" Quinton gently pried, and my watery eyes fell on him, noticing his very hesitant and protective expression. He didn't want to push me, especially in my incredibly fragile emotional state.

I swallowed, tilting my head back and swallowing the aching lump in my throat. "I couldn't save him," I mumbled brokenly, closing my eyes as tears fell uselessly. As much as I tried, I could never dispel my emotions and tears. I wasn't usually one to constantly blubber, but I guess this was on much different circumstances. I could admit that I never really liked, nor wanted to, hide my feelings. I didn't see the point in trying. "He was struggling… and I couldn't save him."

Frankie squeezed my hand abruptly, and peered down at me in firm fierceness. "Don't you _dare_, Billie Schoenberg. Don't blame everything on yourself. You're a _novice_ – you've _never_ faced Strigoi before, and you killed _four_ with your bare hands. Your father's fight was his own, and he is a grown man, an accomplished Guardian, and it is not your fault. You had your fight, he had his, and he lost."

I choked on an unsteady breath, my lip quivering before I pressed both of my chapped, dry lips together, stubborn not to burst into hysterical tears. I might not mind showing my feelings and expressing myself, but I wasn't going to hysterically cry at every word said from now on. I wasn't going to turn so delicate – that wasn't me.

"I just… I could've done something."

Quinton looked like he was about to slap my leg in frustration as he gazed at me with blazing eyes. "Baby girl, _everyone_ knows that if there was something you could've done – anything – you would have done it without hesitation. If you were capable of saving his life, you would've done it no matter the consequences. But there wasn't anything you could do; there wasn't any way you could have saved him."

I pressed my eyes closed, chanting to myself not to cry. Nevertheless, tears were still falling from my eyes in an endless stream, staining tracks down my skin.

We fell into a silence after that. It was comfortable, it was simple and warm. Quinton was still brushing his calloused fingers on my feet, making facial expressions as he closely inspected my feet. Frankie's hands were still absently playing with my hair. I kept my eyes closed, letting my mind drift, and not trying to stop the direction it immediately flowed in.

My mind flashed with violent images, not only ones of my father's body, but of those of the unknown Strigoi. It didn't matter how hard it was to deal with my father's death, because I still couldn't forget that I had taken four lives. They may be undead, but they also had been live beings at a point. They had friends and families, people who mourned over their undead death. Maybe they were blissfully happy people, or miserable and depressed. But that didn't matter, they deserved to live, they deserved to have the chance of living their full, entire life. I may not have been responsible for their awakening in Strigoi, but I was responsible for completely tearing them from any form of life they still had. I tried to comfort myself by reminding myself that they wouldn't have wanted to live that way, no matter what their cold, heartless exterior said. I knew that if I were a Strigoi, I would want someone to kill me, before I murdered innocents. I hoped that by killing those four Strigoi, I'd released them into a happier place, a place they wanted to be.

"Okay," Frankie suddenly exclaimed, and abruptly stopped playing with my hair. "You," he pointed down at me with raised brows, "need to have a shower and throw those clothes out, then get dressed into something clean and fresh. Quin will go hunt down some food for you, and bring it back here. I will be finding some bedding from somewhere, and we're all sleeping together tonight." Frankie looked at me with determined protectiveness, the same kind Quinton wore minutes ago. "There is no way either of us will be leaving you along tonight."

Despite everything that was still crashing on me, compacting and suffocating me in my mind, I gave a tiny smile of appreciation, especially when both my boys hugged me, remembering not to hurt my already tender body, before pressing loud kisses on my cheek and trotting out my room.

I sat there for a few moments, staring after them, although they disappeared from my view a while ago, and I shook my head. I would need to repay them, someday. Maybe they thought they were just being supportive and protective, but they had no idea how much it truly meant to me that even though I was broken and lacked my happy charm, they still stuck by me fiercely. It made my heart swell.

I stood up, gritting my teeth as the pain that was adorned underneath my flesh heated up. I let out a breath, ignoring it, and readied myself before I went and had a shower.

Standing under the high-pressured hot water, which stung my skin painfully, I didn't bother hiding my tears, and they streamed down my cheeks in misery, merging with the rushing shower water. My vision blurred, and I reached out to press my palm against the tiled shower wall for support, trying to calm my breathing.

The steam blurred around me, suffocating me and rendering my vision. I couldn't see through the fogged glass door of the shower, and everything seemed to be closing in on me, trying to bury me alive. The hot water splintered on my skin, running down my reddened back hastily. I choked a gasping breath, my fingers pressing harder against the tiles with desperation.

How many times was I going to fall apart until I was strong enough to battle my overwhelming emotions? How long was I going to live like this for? It hadn't even been a day, and I was already utterly shattered, finding the separation from my father unbearable. I'd dealt with separation before with my father, but those were different terms – I still knew he was _alive_ then, now he's not. I couldn't comfort myself with the fact that I'd see him again – because I wouldn't. I couldn't see his face anymore, hear his voice. I wouldn't ever talk to him again, listen to him lecture me, despite the small smile that was always on his face while he did so. I wouldn't get berated for getting in trouble at school, I wouldn't be personally taught by the most legendary Guardian in history – who was really just my papa.

I straightened up in the shower, pinching my eyes closed as I began scrubbing in shampoo and quickly running through my shower routine.

Finishing the heated shower, I stepped out and dried myself off, swaying slightly with dizziness. Slowing the pace, I gradually wrapped the towel around me and wandered back into my room, where neither Frankie or Quinton had returned. I took the opportunity to get dressed into an oversized t-shirt. I certainly wasn't dressing to impress at the moment.

I was tearing my hairbrush through my knotted strands when my cell phone rang. My brows creasing, I reached for the vibrating phone on my bedside table.

"Hello?" I answered, coughing as y voice came out thick and strangled. Scrunching up my face, I concentrated back on the unknown caller.

"Billie, it's me – Tamara," she clarified hastily, although her tone run both professional and war. I wondered how she did that. "The funeral plans are being arranged, but the date is set for Wednesday. A flight will be arranged with Alder's private jet to the location. We have sorted through your father's Will as quickly as we could, only concentrating on your parental guardian at this point. The rest of the Will is currently being sorted out. Anyway, your father placed you under the parental guidance of Alberta Petrov – a close and old friend of your father."

I drew in a breath, pressing my eyelids close as the information sunk in. "What does that mean, then?"

Tamara paused, before answering, "you will need to transfer to St. Vladimir's Academy in Montana. The Will states you will need to be under the guidance of Alberta in as close proximity as possible. Alberta has been contacted and she is arranging your transfer to St. Vladimir's for the rest of your school year." Tamara paused, and softened her voice incredibly. "I know this is hard, Billie, especially now that you'll be away from your friends and close support, but you just need to hold on. Take each day as it comes and don't forget to make your father proud."

My lips parted, trembling. "Do you think he would be?" I whispered vulnerably, "do you think he would be proud of me?"

Tamara's answer was full of soul and fierceness, "I _know_ he would be. You have no idea how proud he would be of you, Billie. Don't ever forget that."

My head hung, my wet tendrils curtaining my face. "Thank you, Tamara," I breathed.

"No problem. Bye, Billie. Remember, _hang in there_."

The phone line went dead, and I dropped the phone from my ear, letting it loosely hang by my side in my fingers.

The door was harshly thrown open, and Quinton breathlessly barged in, dragging two mattresses with grunts and groans. He faltered in his challenging task when he saw me, though.

"Baby girl?" He softly asked, "what's wrong?"

I swallowed and dropped the cell phone on my bed, before slumping down beside it, on top of the messy, unmade blankets. "I'm being transferred to St. Vladimir's – Alberta Petrov is my parental guardian and she works there."

Quinton gave way to the mattresses, and stared at me wildly, his eyes thundering. "They can't do that!" He protested angrily. "They can't make you leave your friends and life behind!"

I shook my head, my hopes completely abandoned. I knew there was no point fighting it when Tamara told me. Papa wouldn't want me having a drama queen fit because of something like that. It wasn't the end of the world, I told myself, I could still keep contact with my friends, with Frankie and Quinton.

"They can," I pointed out, "I'm in Alberta's custody – it was in my father's Will."

Quinton faltered and slumped, the hope immediately diminishing as he sadly dragged himself across the room and fell down beside me, wrapping his arm around me protectively.

"I already miss you," he mumbled, his voice allowing a hint of his weakness. It warmed my heart that he truthfully trusted me enough to let me see this side of him, even if it had already happened on multiple occasions. It still made me grateful for these incredible friends I had. I would never _ever_ let them go.

I turned my face and pressed my lips to Quinton's cheek firmly, letting them linger before I pulled back and rested my cheek on his muscled shoulder, heaving a deep sigh.

No matter how hard this was going to be, I was going to make my father proud. I wasn't going to disappoint him and let him down. _Never_.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Next chapter! :) That is all! Enjoy! :D x**

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As Alder's private jet began descending through the smeared grey sky, my heart weighed down lower, and a lump restricted my breathing.

I felt so lonely sitting in the private jet. Maybe this was just a test from God – if I could survive this kind of situation, I would be deemed capable of going to St. Vladimir's. No, maybe this was a test from my father. Maybe somewhere in the heavens, he wanted to know I was going to be okay. Maybe he was worried. But, Frankie and Quinton were granted permission to go with me to the funeral for moral support. It didn't take much begging, of course, and I was more than relieved to know I wasn't going to be suffering this turmoil in my own mind in my lonesome.

Frankie had just quickly slipped off to the bathroom before we were required to stay seated and buckle our seatbelts, and Quinton had gone to hunt down some food, claiming he was starving. The jet was quiet, excluding the humming of the engines powering the plane. I had my iPod playing, only one earphone in my left ear, so it wouldn't be a rude gesture of ignoring the two main men of my life – now that my number one was gone.

The slumber party – if it could even be called that – was full of hysterical tears and choppy stories of the Strigoi attack on the Badicas'. I blubbered and cried a lot, which ended up sucking the two boys into my wallowing misery and made them cry as well. I had abandoned my bed at some point, and slipped in the the boys' blankets, snuggling in between them and grasping whatever warmth and comfort I could reach. I still slept within the pits of nightmares and cries in the silence of the nocturnal night, but it felt better than sleeping by myself in the cold lonely bed.

Now it was the third day since my father was brutally killed and drained dry by an unnamed Strigoi, and I ached with restless grief. I just wanted to see him – if only for a minute. I wanted to know that, wherever he was, he was okay and had found peace. I wanted to know that even if I wasn't happy, that he was. I just wanted him to find peace. Maybe he found his lost fellow Guardian friends, and maybe he was having a wonderful time in heaven. I hoped so. I gave a tiny sad smile – I hoped he was finally reconciled with his lost friends and family, and he was happy.

"You okay, baby girl?" I jumped at the sudden touch of Quinton's palm on my shoulder, and I cried out in fright. His eyes widened in panic and he stepped back, holding up his hands in surrender. "Sorry!" He sincerely apologized, fretful with worry. I choked a breath and hastily shook my head.

"No, I-" I swallowed, shaking my head again. "I'm sorry, that was my fault. I'm just still jumpy…" My eyes squinted in frustration, and I gritted my teeth as I buckled my seatbelt while the pilot's weary voice called over the intercom. Frankie came scampering back, looking suspiciously between Quinton and I, obviously sensing the tense worry. They both slowly took their seats and the landing of the plane was processed with silence, and I berated myself at my frustrating behaviour. My heart churned with regret and worry. What if they both gave up on me and though I was a lost cause? What if they didn't want me anymore?

I looked down, letting my hair barricade my face from both their views, so they didn't see my lip jut and my eyes water hormonally.

They were both young men, wanting to enjoy their last months as a worry-free teenager. I was just like them – not anymore, though. I couldn't even think as a reckless, worriless teen. My mind had readjusted to the fact that I lost my father, whom I was incredibly close with, and now my thinking system just didn't work the same way. I didn't think about crazed, fun parties anymore – I didn't even think about my classes much anymore, and as much as I chastised myself and reminded myself my father would be disappointed, I could never focus my attention for an entire class, and it frustrated me. My mind seemed to constantly, rebelliously wander, and I was panicking that I was disappointing my father. Tamara's words had stuck with me - _Take each day as it comes and don't forget to make your father proud._ Maybe I wasn't on track with my classes at the moment, but I was determined that when I transferred to St. Vladimir's, I upped my game and really focussed. My father was Arthur Schoenberg, he was a legendary and I was his daughter. I wouldn't not only be disappointing him, but I would be destroying his reputation. I was his only family left, just like he had been my own, and I wasn't going to let his memory crumble into dust.

I unbuckled myself and suddenly threw my arms around Quinton desperately, holding him tightly. "I'm sorry for being an idiot," I vigorously apologized. Quinton chuckled slightly, the sound vibrating between our touching bodies.

"It's no problem, baby girl," he kissed my temple, "I understand."

They clambered off the private jet, Frankie stubbornly snatching all of my bags and luggage and carrying them across the tarmac to the sleek black tinted car waiting for us.

Today wasn't only the day I was attending my father's funeral – it was also the day I was transferring to St. Vladimir's Academy in Montana. I decided on my own account that it would just be simpler to get all this hard problems over and done with. It might be a complete overload of overwhelming emotions, but I didn't want to drag it out, prolonging the inevitable goodbyes. It was another reason Frankie and Quinton were adamant on coming with me. This would be our last hours together until we organized a get together. Even then, I knew it was possible I wasn't going to see them until after graduation.

I pushed the miserable thoughts from the front of my mind. I didn't want to overthink these last hours with my best friends, my brothers, and ruin it. Although, attending a funeral wasn't exactly an ideal way to spend a last day with friends. Nevertheless, I would embrace these hours with them, even if they were most likely going to be compiled with me crying and weeping, embarrassing myself.

The drive to the church passed by in a sickening blur. My stomach was churning and lurching horribly, and I felt like I was going to be physically sick. My head was spinning in turmoil and I was desperately trying to brace myself for the funeral, and the rest of the day I had ahead of myself.

It was going to be _long_.

The car pulled to a stop, and I only hesitated for a moment before I climbed out, smoothing down my outfit of a low-thigh length black dress. It was of soft lace, with an black underdress. It was absent of shoulder sleeves, and the neckline was high. It was a new dress I'd purchased only two months ago, and it appeared to be quite fashionable and I'd loved it. I certainly didn't expect it to be first worn to a funeral though. I only wore simple black flats to go with, as well as a cardigan, and my hair was pulled up in a casual bun, several strands curling around my face in the low, muggy temperature. Quinton rested his hand around my neck, on my shoulder, and gave it a supportive squeeze. He briefly hugged me close as we approached the intimidating church double doors, kissing my hair.

"Everything will be okay," he promised me in a firm whisper. I smiled weakly at him, and he pushed the doors open.

Frankie held the doors open, and he rested his palm on the middle of my back, adding to the support Quinton had offered.

Heads turned at our entrance, although several were just simply curious glances, before they returned to their own conversation. Many, though, held their gazes and they peered at me with pity and sympathetic pulsing in their eyes. It made me feel sick again.

I recognized quite a few as friends and acquaintances of my father, whom I'd met at various points in time. Lots, though, were people I'd never seen in my life and were complete strangers. But I had to remind myself this wasn't just my father's funeral, this was a combined funeral of a family and their Guardians. They all had their friends and relatives as well. I swallowed as I realized I truly was the only family of my father's, and I was here to represent and mingle with these mourning people. I couldn't let my father's memory be overridden by everyone else who died in the attack. I wouldn't let that happen, that was my job – to make sure he was never forgotten nor faded from memory in vain.

"Oh, Billie!" A woman, who I quickly found that I didn't know at all, cried out softly as she glided towards me, collecting me in a warm embrace. The embrace forced Quinton and Frankie back away respectfully, although they both stuck by my sides protectively as the woman wiped her damp cheeks. "I'm terribly sorry for your father," she wept, "its awful what happened. I can't imagine how you feel! I knew your father in school; he was such a great man."

I forced a smile, bowing my head in a nod. "Yeah, he was."

This woman was too distracted by her own thoughts that she realized I really didn't want to hear her pointless words. I knew it was awful what happened, _I_ was there. I knew Arthur Schoenberg was a great man, he was _my_ father. I didn't need this woman to try and tell me this as if I didn't already know it.

"He was always so dedicated to his duties!" The woman continued, "I always knew during school that he would make a great Guardian – he surpassed the other novices easily. It didn't surprise me that he was written down in the history books as a legend."

I clenched my jaw, about to open my mouth to finally give this ignorant woman a piece of my mind, but Frankie firmly clamped his palm on my shoulder, silently telling me not to even open my mouth.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Frankie sweetly apologized, "we better be moving along – Billie needs to mingle."

The woman just blinked and smiled, nodding distractedly and wandering away after catching me in another hug. I grimaced, before giving a forceful smile until she dropped from my sight, and I let go of the smile.

"Billie, I know these people are going to be annoying and insufferable, but you just need to stay calm and keep going. The ceremony isn't too far away, and after that it won't be long until it's over."

I sighed, knowing he was completely right.

I braced myself and plunged myself into the social network within the church, chatting to people who I knew as well as others I didn't. I let them babble to me about how great my father was. I found that it was very difficult to continue a conversation with someone else who had lost a very close relative or friend in the attack. Neither of us took the lead and babbled mindlessly, so those conversations ended awkwardly.

"Oh, the ceremony's about to start," someone by me mumbled and wandered off to find a comfortable spot in the pews. The church was quite packed, especially because it was a joint service and everyone in the attack had their own loved ones who were here to mourn. Before the ceremony, many people had opted to stand outside the church to mingle. Freddie took hold of my hand and guided me through the tight crowds, while Quinton was closely trailing behind.

The crowds quickly and efficiently dispersed into pews, and the noise level dropped suddenly. But the priest off to the side of the pedestal didn't take a stand, instead it was a Guardian – one whom I'd forgotten the name to whilst trying to pin every guest's name to memory.

"Good morning everyone," he greeted, and paused. "Today we are here to mourn and grieve the losses of royal Badica family members and their sanctioned Guardians. Everyone here is grieving in their own ways, to their own loved ones. Three days ago, a group of Strigoi executed an attack on the family. The Guardians fought bravely, but all of them fell to their deaths during their battles with the undead – including Arthur Schoenberg." The Guardian paused again, reining his emotions into a stoic expression once more. "Arthur Schoenberg was a legend among our people, the great Strigoi slayer in history. During the attack, Arthur Schoenberg's daughter, Billie, arrived at the house whilst only Guardian Schoenberg was still alive. Billie slaughtered and staked four Strigoi, at the age of seventeen, and she has now taken a place in the history books right beside her father. Today, we will not only be mourning our loved ones – we will also be celebrating Miss Schoenberg's breath-taking strength to kill four Strigoi, and we will commemorate by carrying out a molnija ceremony before the funeral service begins."

I choked as I swallowed, my face stricken in horror. I didn't _want_ tattoos to remember that day. I didn't want to interrupt a _funeral_ to _get_ said tattoos. My hand tightened incredibly on both Frankie's and Quinton's hands and my heart pounded heavily against my caging ribs. Eyes swivelled around until they found me, and they watched as I internally struggled.

"C'mon, baby girl," Quinton whispered in my ear fiercely, "go up there and show everyone how damn strong you are." He leaned back, and had a small smile on his lips as he gazed at me. I gulped thickly, and nodding wordlessly.

My legs feeling like jelly, I wobbly stood up, grabbing the backboard of the pew in front of me for support, before I began shuffling across into the middle aisle. I held my chin up and strode towards the platform podium. I skirted around the side and walked up the few steps and met the Guardian halfway. He let his stoic mask deter for a split moment and gave me a gentle smile, shaking my hand.

"You will be a great Guardian – just like your father," he told me, his eyes glittering with sincerity. I gave a tiny smile and nodded.

"Thank you."

The tattooist had wheeled his trolley to the off-centre of the stage, beside the pedestal. The trolley was full of his unique instruments and equipment, and the artist placed a stool beside the trolley, beckoning me to sit. I heaved a deep breath before doing as instructed, and sat down. The artist was quite prepared to tattoo a female, and had hairpins to pin the stray strands on the back of my neck, so they wouldn't get in his way. The dress I wore had a back zip, and the artist tugged it down a few inches so he had a clear view of the nape of my neck.

"Not even promised yet," the artist mumbled sadly, his low tone obviously not meant for me to hear. He was referring to the fact that I hadn't even graduated and got my promise tattoo yet.

It took a while for the artist to begin stencilling the four molnija marks, and my eyes were zeroed straight ahead, glued to the large twin doors at the end of the aisle. The smooth oak wood was glosses and sleek, and the handles were large and heavy. Everyone was in the close pews, every pair of eyes either gazing at me or glancing back and forth between their closest friends as they talked lowly – probably about me. Despite it being a funeral, the royal Moroi could never level down their desperate need to gossip and chatter.

I clenched my jaw as the artist pressed the stencils to my neck – not in pain, of course, but of annoyance. Just because these people were a fair distance from me, and thought even if I did notice, that I wouldn't do anything about it, didn't mean they had the indecent capability to gossip about me, in front of me. I could see them; I could watch their lips move as they tried to keep a pathetic low voice.

The needle began raking through my skin, and I kept my face void of pain. My eyes wandered through the pews of people, gazing at their faces one by one. Frankie and Quinton gave me supportive, proud smiles as they watched me get tattooed, and my eyes continued scanning. Mindlessly scraping my gaze through my audience, I froze in surprise.

Alberta Petrov was watching me with an unreadable expression from a back pew. Her eyes caught mine, and we stared at each other. She was studying me apprehensively, and I struggled to understand what her eyes were conveying. I hadn't seen her in years – the last time being when she and my father briefly visited Alder to tell peculiar stories of their Strigoi encounters. I couldn't remember her story, but I remember the entire class being in awe. I didn't get to talk to her personally, as I'd already met when I was much younger, and I hadn't had contact since. Despite being on close terms with her, I hadn't really thought of her much since her visit to the academy, honestly.

She only aged in the way her hair had been streaked with more silver strands, and the wrinkles had been added on to around her eyes. She was in her fifties, and she looked quite nice for her age.

I pulled my eyes from her – I didn't want my mind to wander to where I knew it was heading.

The artist was humming absently as he streaked the needle through my skin, making me internally grimace in agony. He had to do four intricate curled lines, bent in the shapes of 'S's'. The process was stretched in in time, and I truthfully wanted to sit back in the pew and get through the funeral service. I certainly didn't want to come here to have the attention centred around me and the horrible murders I'd committed. They may have been Strigoi, but Strigoi had to be created from a mortal being. That thought throbbed in my mind hurtfully.

"Would you like to see?" The artist asked me, having finally finished my monijas. I hesitated, before I shook my head, turning my stare to the floorboard stage. The artist silently took my answer in stride and bandaged up the back of my neck, before extracting the pins from my hair and carefully zipping my dress zip up again. I looked at him appreciatively.

"Thank you, sir," I respectfully told him. He smiled.

"It's no problem, Miss Schoenberg. Don't mull on your kills, young lady – it wasn't your problem to begin with." He gave me another stern smile and patted my shoulder before he began packing up his gear carefully. I stood for a few seconds, before shaking out of it and stepping off the stage and made my way back to my pew – back to my hiding place. I grimaced once I realized that I was sitting in the middle, and the people behind me were most likely going to be nosily hoping for a peek at my new tattoos. Luckily, most of the more snobby, snooping royal Moroi got first priority and were seated close to the front. I skirted through the pew, squeezing past the knees protruding in my path. I thankfully took my seat, wanting to bury myself as Frankie and Quinton smiled at me proudly.

"You did a good job," Frankie simply told me, and took my hand with a reassuring squeeze. Quinton dutifully took my other and I found myself once again being emotionally grateful for these two best friends, brothers. I got really lucky to find these two.

Finally, the priest launched into the funeral service, and I was able to fade into the background of people's thoughts, as my own overtook my focus. I barely paid attention to the priest's rumbling, clear voice, and my mind travelled into the future ahead of me.

_A future without my father_, my mind found it was important to remind myself of that brutal fact. Nevertheless, as bleak and painful as it seemed my future would be, I still had a lot to look forward to. Graduating and becoming a fledged Guardian, being assigned to whomever the council deemed appropriate, and beginning an adultery life in the reality world where safe academies like Alder didn't exist anymore. Although, there was a chance I could possibly be assigned to a royal inside of the Royal Court, and that was just as safe as Alder, probably more so actually. Someone's life would be in my hands, and it would be purely my job to keep them safe and away from harm's way. No Strigoi or danger was to even lie it's fingertips on my Moroi charge. That would be my life – my future.

I didn't even remember a word the priest had spoken during the service, my mind on an entirely different planet. My eyes were on him, although glazed and distant. He was barely talking about my father, though, more so about how the massacre was in Lord's plan. I didn't care about God, quite frankly, and this service was incredibly different than what I'd expected, especially the surprise monija ceremony someone had planned without telling me. _Maybe the Lord planned it_, I bitterly muttered in my mind, and internally rolled my eyes.

The service ended, to my relief, and everyone rose from their pews. We weren't going to the cemetery to bury the caskets, because the bodies were all taken to the Royal Court cemetery. To me, the funeral was over and I was free to leave this miserable event. I was exhausted, and I didn't think I could put up with the gossiping, chatty royal Moroi for any longer. I just wanted to leave.

But then I remembered where I was actually going to be leaving to, and I faltered. St. Vladimir's. I wasn't going back to Alder where Frankie and Quinton could distract me from my agonized thoughts – no, I was going to Montana where I didn't have anyone, no one to talk to. Alberta would be there, of course, but I didn't know if I would confess my thoughts to her, no matter the fact he was my legal parental guardian. I dreaded arriving at St. Vladimir's, where I was be stranded, in the middle of people who grew up together, whereas I was the new arrival. I would be peered at and prodded as if I was a science experience. I would be the new kid – and if St. Vladimir's was anything like Alder, they didn't get many new kids. I would be a rarity – a female dhampir novice. I would be known as Arthur Schoenberg's daughter, which, I could admit, people still referred to me as his daughter back at Alder.

I put my anticipation to leave the church aside, and I worked through the crowds to bid goodbye, getting thrown in several long conversations in the process. I stubbornly made Frankie and Quinton go do their own thing and talk to the Guardians until I was finished, because I knew they had been secretly wishing to avidly talk to the Guardians and quiz them to the point of insanity.

Tearing myself from a painfully chatty royal Ivashkov woman, I searched for Frankie and Quinton, and headed in their direction.

They were both goggling excitedly at a Guardian who was calmly telling them a narrated story of his experiences, using hand gestures – which only excited the boys even more. Frankie loudly butted in, asking a question, which the Guardian paused to before answering serenely. I slowed my pace, until I stopped, and watched the two boys glow with awe. They looked so animated, so _happy_.

I frowned, realizing I had been keeping them from their usual cheerfulness in the past few days. I stopped them from smiling and laughing. I made it seem wrong for them to be happy because I wasn't. I ruined their constant robust moods and laid my misery and sadness on their shoulders. That wasn't fair, and guilt throbbed inside me as my self-loathing thoughts bombarded my mind.

_Maybe it was a good thing I was leaving_, I inevitably thought.

These two boys were the best people in my life, the people I confessed my secrets to and trusted with my entire heart. But I laid too much on them, I made them sad. In my misery, I forgot that I wasn't the only person on the planet, and I wasn't the only one who had feelings. I forgot that my best friends were being affected by my mood. Maybe it really was the best thing for me to leave. They wouldn't have to worry about my troubles, and they could do as they honestly wished. I wouldn't hold them back. They could just be _happy_.

I smiled sadly, completely grasping that this really was going to be the best decision – if not for me, for them. I squared my shoulders, and shoved my sad resignation aside, before heading towards the boys.

"Done?" Frankie gave me a smile. I scrunched up my nose.

"Yes." He chuckled, and then both Quinton and Frankie, albeit reluctantly, bade the Guardian goodbye, and began walking away. I paused, and turned to the boys hastily. "Wait a second," I murmured, and followed my path back to the Guardian the boys had just been talking to.

He looked at me curiously as I approached him.

"I have a huge favour to ask, Guardian…?" I trailed off questioningly, my eyes blazed with determination.

"Edwards," he affirmed.

I nodded, "Guardian Edwards, who were the Strigoi at the – massacre?" I winced sensitively. "What were their names?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked at me cautiously. "Miss Schoenberg, I do not have access to that information." My heart sunk marginally.

I begged, "Please, Guardian Edwards, I just want to know." I swallowed. "I'm sure you… I'm sure you can understand. I just want to know who they were." I allowed my eyes to water pathetically, mentally berating myself for manipulating this Guardian into giving my confidential information.

He glanced around and sighed, clenching him jaw. "You go to Alder?" He asked, the question completely redirected from the current subject.

I frowned curiously, but shook my head, "I'm transferring to St Vladimir's."

He blinked in surprise, but nodded. "I'll get it to you in a few days," He promised. My eyes widened and I looked at him with honest gratefulness.

"Thank you, Guardian Edwards, I really appreciate it."

He just nodded briskly, no doubt having trouble understand why he had just betrayed his laws that he had obviously followed for years. That sort of information wasn't thrown around regularly, even among fully-fledged Guardians.

I headed back to Quinton and Frankie, who were both eyeing me curiously.

"What was that about?" Quinton asked when I was close enough to hear.

"I just wanted ask something," I partially lied. I couldn't bear to completely create a stupid lie, so I skirted around the full truth, and gave them both a vague answer. They could interpret it however they wished, but I wasn't going to tell them something false. I loved them too much to do such a guilty act.

As we headed out of the church, I suddenly questioned myself. Why did I even need to lie to them in the first place? Why couldn't I just tell them that I asked about the Strigoi I'd killed? Why didn't I just tell them the truth? Was it because I thought they would judge me? They wouldn't understand?

The crisp air brushed my lace dress in the breeze, and I squinted up at the grey skies.

"Billie."

I nearly stumbled, and pressed my eyes closed briefly afore turning around hesitantly. Alberta Petrov was standing at the church doors, looking at me as she gradually made her way closer.

"Guardian Petrov," I struggled to say without choking on my words.

She shook her head with a ghosting smile. "Just Alberta," she corrected gently, her voice sweeping away in the wind. "You don't mind coming with me to St. Vladimir's, do you?" She paused, glancing at Frankie and Quinton behind me. "Would you like more time with your friends?"

I opened my mouth, but didn't answer for several moments. I blinked hastily as my vision blurred thickly. "No, no… We can go now." Everything began crashing on top of me painfully, and my lower lip trembled as I turned back to my best friends – my brothers. They were looking at me, put out with sadness.

I tried a smile, but it failed miserably as a tear flicked from my lashes. "I'll see you someday, hey?" My voice cracked and my lashes dampened with salty, hot tears.

They both looked at me sadly, and Frankie was the first to collect me in a warm bear hug, lifting me off the ground fleetingly. "Don't forget about us, will you?" I gave a pathetic chuckle, shaking my head as I rested my cheek against his chest.

"Never." I hugged him tighter, desperation staining my fingertips as I felt the departure near quickly. I wasn't going to see these boys for a while – I didn't even know if I ever would see them again. It was one of the hardest things in my life – to just walk away from two of the best things that ever happened to me.

Frankie pulled away and allowed Quinton to snatch me into his own swallowing embrace.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do without you, baby girl," he breathed in my ear, and I didn't reply, only tightening my grip on the handfuls of his crisp suit jacket. I swallowed thickly and gestured hastily for Frankie to re-join us, and we locked in a tight group hug.

"I'm going to miss you two," I whispered miserably, unable to keep the distraught from my voice. I seized a shaky breath and pulled away, studying their faces, which had sneaky tears slowly creeping down their cheeks. I reached up to Quinton, and pressed my lips to his cheek, capturing the salty tear before falling back onto the soles on my feet. I reached up again and kissed Frankie's cheek as well, several more tears flooding down my cheeks. "I've gotta go," I choked, knowing if I didn't quickly leave now, I probably never would.

I squeezed their hands and then mentally seized some sort of strength.

I let go of their intertwining fingers, losing contact with their skin completely. My lip jutted out in a torn expression, I wiped pathetically at the tears racing down my face. I stepped away and turned to Alberta, who was watching the scene unfold with an unreadable expression.

"Let's go," I quietly said.

I didn't look back.

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**How'd I go? I'm really excited to get to St. Vladimir's, and get Billie introduced to everyone! I've got so many ideas, I just hope I don't lose interest before I get to the really exciting parts, haha. I hope you all enjoyed, and they next chapter will be up soon. :) Tah! x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey, here's the fourth chapter! :D I hope you all enjoy! If any of you have read my other fanfic, you'll notice that I failed miserably at trying to multi-task with two stories. I'm terrible at it, and I shouldn't ever try it again. But I love the plotline I have prepared for the other fanfic, Beneath the Surface, so hopefully after this story, I can go back to the other. But, I also have another wicked story idea that I'm desperate to try! I know I should wait until after this, but I'm really excited to see if I can pull it off! Anyway, without further ado, enjoy! :D x**

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Alberta had taken St. Vladimir's private jet to the funeral, and it flew us to the Montana academy. Alberta sat across from me, and she immediately busied herself with some paperwork, while I placed my iPod buds in my ears, and settled into my reclined chair as the notes rang in my eardrums.

The flight was several hours, and I dozed in and out of sleep, letting my thoughts battle for the forefront of my mind. I tried not to think about Frankie and Quinton, but I found it impossible. I tried not to think about my father, but that was impossible as well. I tried not to think about the Strigoi I'd killed, and the tattoos imprinted in my skin on the nape of my neck, but it was inevitable. But I didn't even know what to think about anymore – I didn't have anything to think of that wasn't miserable and painful.

Was that how my life was going to be now? Full of depressing thoughts? Would I ever get past the massacre, or would it still haunt me for years on end?

I pressed my eyes tighter together, trying to grasp onto sleep so I couldn't think about it anymore. My teeth chewed on my lip in torture, and I begged pathetically for unconsciousness to take hold of me. I blindly grabbed for my iPod, and turned up the volume, hoping to tune out the incessant thoughts that plagued me.

"Billie, we've landed," the muffled voice sneaked past the blasting music emitting from my earphones, and I sleepily tugged the buds out my ears to look up at Alberta with heavily-lidded eyes. "We're at St. Vladimir's," she felt the need to clarify. I opened my mouth silently, and then shut it as I glanced out the windows, rubbing my eyes with a yawn. I couldn't see the academy out the window, so it must be on the other side.

Alberta retreated from me, collecting the paperwork she had been mulling over during the flight, and patiently waited for me to completely wake up. I stuffed my iPod and the earphones in my duffle bag before looping my arm through the straps. Alberta kindly took my suitcase, while I grabbed my last bag, and we left the internal of the plane, prudently clambering down the steps of the private jet.

"Welcome to St. Vladimir's," Alberta told me, her gaze flickering to me carefully. I peered at the large academy with sponging eyes. It wasn't much different from Alder, although Alder was probably more luxurious than St. Vladimir's. This school was older, though, and the buildings were worn with age and history. It was large, the grounds and buildings spread around the area spaciously. It had a slight gothic touch to it, but I liked it. It was different from Alder.

We approached the vampiric boarding school, and my eyes continued studying with wonder. I could get used to it. Because vampires follow a nocturnal schedule, it was late morning right now, and I assumed everyone would be in class. The moonlight glowed on the grounds, reflecting from the old buildings. Quietly, Alberta and I made our way to the school, our footsteps against the concrete path being the concentration of my mind.

"I'll show you to your room first," Alberta spoke, "and you can get changed into something more comfortable before you get a tour of the school."

I simply nodded in return, adjusting my grip on both my bags.

The female dhampir dorms were empty, obviously, and Alberta led me up the stairs and through a hall, before she paused at a door and jostled her keys in the door knob lock.

The room was simple, void of any personal belongings, and there was a single bed in the corner, a bedside table, a dresser and wardrobe. In Alder I had my own room as well, because there weren't many female dhampirs, so we all got our own rooms. St. Vladimir's had the same arrangement, I assumed. I dumped my bags on the bed, and Alberta placed the suitcase at the foot of the bed.

"I'll leave you to get changed," Alberta announced, and stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

I stood in the middle of the room for a few minutes, staring at the floor, lost. I know I shouldn't have expected differently, but was Alberta going to be so impersonal with me for the rest of this year until I graduated? Was she going to always treat me like I was just another student to her? I knew I shouldn't have expected any special treatment, but I wondered if this was what it was going to be like.

I snapped out of my revere and began fishing out clothes from my suitcase. I put on grey sweats, and rolled them messily into three-quarters, before throwing on a black spaghetti strap singlet. I stared at myself in the mirror with an expression even I couldn't decipher. I twisted my neck around slightly, and peered at the bandage that covered the four small tattoos that tarnished my neck. It was thickly padded and blandly white. But what was hidden underneath it would always be there. It didn't matter if it was on my skin or not, I would always be haunted by the deaths I caused. Tattoos wouldn't trigger my memory of that day. I had a dead father because of that day, my memory of it wasn't going anywhere.

I sighed and turned away from the mirror, and headed out of the room.

Alberta was waiting by the door, and she looked up at the sound of the groaning door. "Ready?"

I let out an unmotivated breath. "Yeah."

I felt bad for being so quiet and anti-social with Alberta. I knew I should try and have a conversation with her, and at least thank her for taking me in, at the very least. But I honestly didn't know where to start with this relationship. How was I supposed to get comfortable with this woman if I had no idea what to do?

"Guardian Petrov," a voice suddenly rang behind us, and both Alberta and myself glanced over our shoulders to see a male Guardian approaching us swiftly. He looked firm and unsympathetic – I had a feeling he wasn't a favoured teacher at St. Vladimir's.

"Guardian Alto," Alberta greeted formally, obviously not having a particularly close bond with the other Guardian. He reached us, and looked at me peculiarly.

"You must be Billie Schoenberg," he said. I studied him curiously and hesitantly shook his hand as I slowly nodded to his question. He let go of my hand while glancing to Alberta. "I thought I would join Miss Scheonberg's tour."

Alberta's eyes sparked with a flash of curiosity and suspicion, but she just nodded. "Of course. I'm just about to show her to the feeding room and the cafeteria."

Guardian Alto nodded and fell into steps beside Alberta with his face masked passively. The slightly awkward air that emitted between Alberta and I was now ten-folds worse. Guardian Alto definitely wasn't a man who showed personal affection at all, and his personality made this tour painfully tormenting. I didn't know how to react around him just yet.

We only quickly surveyed the feeding room before continuing with the tour. I was a dhampir, I didn't need blood to survive like Moroi did. But I guess it might be useful to know where the feeding room was for any future reference.

"It's nearly lunch time," Alberta told me, "so we'll show you the cafeteria and quickly to a few other places before you have lunch. You can start classes today or after Christmas." Alberta looked at me for some sort of decision, but I just shrugged. I honestly didn't care, but it probably would settle my anxiety to just start classes and get some kind of grip on how things worked at this academy. I didn't think it would be much different from Alder, though.

"Do you do well in theoretic classes, Miss Schoenberg?" Guardian Alto intrusively asked, obviously not realizing there were boundaries, and his tone had made his crossing that boundary even worse. He had been grating on me ever since he joined this tour, and my anger was building up dangerously. He obviously wanted to know where I stood in ways of talent. I'd been thinking ever since I met him of ways to prove myself to him.

I knew that meeting new people, and people who knew of my legendary father to make it worse, would mean I would need to work harder to prove myself worthy of the name _Schoenberg_. My father had painted it with his renowned popularity, and now it was my turn to try and fit my father's shoes. No one thought I was as good as my father, I knew, and I also knew I probably never would be. He was legendary for a reason, and even if I tried to build my own status I would never be capable of competing with the likes of Arthur Schoenberg. But I was determined to at least become second best. That was all I needed.

"I do fine," I finally answered, my teeth grinding in irritation. Guardian Alto was very talented in the art of annoyance.

"Hm," he murmured, no doubt unimpressed with my reply. I clenched my jaw.

Alberta had also been shooting Guardian Alto irritated glances, but hadn't found a reason to scold his incessant questioning. After all, they had been harmless questions so far – there wasn't any reason to chastise him. Alberta pushed open the cafeteria doors, and I inspected the large room. Tables, chairs – it wasn't much different from Alder.

Alberta was about to launch into a sprout of information, but Guardian Alto spoke before she had the chance.

"Your abilities need to be tested before you're placed in classes, Miss Schoenberg," he mused aloud, "It would be awfully humiliating if you were placed in a class in which you don't reach the expectations of. Would you mind sparring with me later in the gym?"

My eyes narrowed with disbelief and growing aggravation. I logically understood why he would want to test my abilities – that part was fine, but the way he said everything was twisted to get under my skin. Was he hoping to infuriate me?

Alberta was quick to intervene. "Guardian Alto! Do not speak down to our students like that," she scolded in utter dismay. Guardian Alto's dark eyes were staring levelly at me, and he didn't remove his gaze for a while. When he did, he didn't look affected by Alberta's admonishment.

"I'm just curious to understand Miss Schoenberg's skill level," he replied indifferently.

He turned his heavy, scrutinising gaze to Alberta, easing its intensity.

"Why do we need to spar in the gym?"

Both Alberta and Guardian Alto's heads swung around to me in surprise and confusion at my words. I shrugged in response to their gazes.

"Excuse me?" Guardian Alto questioned with slitted eyes. His expression was stony and dark.

"Guardian-"

"You heard me," I coolly responded to the man, interrupting Alberta's reprimand. "Why do we need to spar in the gym? I thought academies like St. Vladimir's were built to ready students for the real world. I though teachers were supposed to ingrain it into their novices' minds that attacks aren't planned or civilised." I tilted my head with determination. I wasn't going to cower from Guardian Alto – he needed to be taught a valued lesson. "Tell me, Guardian Alto, when you encountered Strigoi, did they ask to _spar in the gym_?" My tongue flicked sarcasm into my words, and my eyes were staring at the man challengingly. "So, why do we need to fight in a gym, when we can fight right here?"

Guardian Alto didn't back down, and I wasn't surprised. I didn't think a fully-fledged Guardian was going to back out of an impromptu fight with a mere novice. His pride wouldn't allow it any more than his unreasonable dislike for me would. He wasn't going to back down from a _child_.

"Guardian Alto, Billie," Alberta hissed, unable to back up her arguing with a valid point. After all, what I had said was right – Strigoi attacks weren't anticipated, you didn't have time to think about it beforehand.

"Stand back, Guardian Petrov," Guardian Alto formally directed the Head Guardian of the academy. "Keep a close eye on Miss Schoenberg's techniques, please, in case I miss anything." Alberta clenched her jaw in desperation for an argument, but when she came up blank, she stepped back with a huff of frustration.

"A fair fight," Alberta commanded between gritted teeth.

I looked at her ruefully as Guardian Alto and I both got into position. "Strigoi don't fight fair," I pointed out. Alberta shot me a look, and I didn't have time to worry about deciphering it as I crouched in a stance a few feet from Guardian Alto.

We stayed crouched for a few moments, both analysing each other thoroughly before the fight began. Quickly finding all I could, I launched myself at the man, not allowing him to possibly find any weakness of mine. At first, I aimed high, but I buckled my knees and dropped down, plunging my Converse shoe into his stomach before rolling out from underneath his hunched position. I threw my fist purposely sloppily towards him, and he took the bait obliviously. With my other fist, I smacked it against his temple before twisting my arm around carefully and slamming my elbow into his throat. He choked for a moment before quickly recouping and swung his leg around. It hit my upper thigh, and as I reached to grab his ankle, his fist flew towards my face and smashed into my jaw painfully. I stumbled back slightly, loosening my grip on his ankle. He drove through with his offence, and send his fist swinging around. I ducked it, and landed a blow above his hip, and I twisted around, adding momentum behind my fist before it landed in his stomach. His foot lurched up and slammed into my chin, making my teeth shudder delicately. I gritted my teeth and straightened up, before slamming my forehead into him, head-butting him powerfully. He growled as he stumbled painfully. I took advantage of his moment of weakness, and sent a high-kick into his muscles chest, making him stumble further, hitting a table behind him.

I narrowed my eyes in fierceness, grasping a plastic chair tightly before sliding it forcefully across the floor and hitting Guardian Alto. He growled in irritation, and shoved the chair away, the object clattering loudly sideways on the floor. Guardian Alto lunged, and I stepped to the side of his attack, but brought my opened palm up around and pressed it sturdily against the crown of his head before viciously shoving him with my hand. I followed through as I spun, slamming my foot into his lower back and sending him falling to the floor with failing balance. I turned my back, grounding my teeth together as I anticipated his attack. I completely opened my senses, enhancing my hearing and my intuition. I knew he was going to try and attack from behind – he thought he would have me down now. I heard the tiniest sound of him standing up, recovering from the blows I'd sent him. He crept up behind me. I could imagine his hands reaching for my shoulders and throat, no doubt thinking he was going to win.

I reached up swiftly and grabbed his forearm, before giving a grunt of ferocity. He was going to regret ever underestimating me. With that determined thought, I bent, and tore him off his feet, and bringing him over my shoulder. The grown man was rendered powerless as I threw him over my shoulder, slamming his body onto a lunch table. The force of slamming his body made the table shudder and he fell straight through the splintering wooden table. He gave a strangled sound as I gritted my teeth together.

A mischievous, sneaky part of me took control of my mindset momentarily, and I carefully leaned over the splintered table, groping Guardian Alto's shirt and heaving him up. He looked dazed and I briefly wondered if he'd gotten a concussion. Nevertheless, I drew my tightly balled fist back and then slammed it into the weakened man's cheekbone. I let go of him and he toppled back down in the splinters of the table. I was still, staring at the fallen Guardian.

My chest heaved and my breath came out heavy. My fists throbbed marginally, and I loosened them, stretching my fingers out. I lapped my tongue across my chapped, dry lips.

"Naw, that's my table!"

My head snapped up, and I blinked in surprise to see a large cluster of students swarmed at the door, having kept a safe distance from the fight I'd just been active in. At the front of the group, a redheaded boy, about my age, was watching me with cheekily twinkling eyes. He had freckles splattered across his face, and he was pretty cute. A dhampir, as well.

My expression turned into one of sheepishness, and I glanced back down to Guardian alto, who was on the brink of unconsciousness. My lips twitched despite myself, and I couldn't help but feel satisfied. After his annoying comments during the tour, I was glad I'd marked his face, so he would now have to live with a bruised cheekbone for a few weeks. He had it coming, I pointed out to myself when I started to feel a twinge of guilt. Maybe he learnt his lesson now.

But I knew I was treading in dangerous waters by knocking out a school Guardian. If what I'd seen of him was any sign of what he was usually like, I was quite confident that he wasn't a favourite Guardian of the school body.

"Mr Ashford," Alberta spoke, in warning, to the redhead. He just grinned at her, gesturing to me and the demolished table.

"Guardian Petrov," he protested, "where are we supposed to sit?" But the grin on his face didn't compliment his argument, and he didn't seem too fussed by the fact that I had ruined his table.

Alberta ignored him, and turned to me with an approving gaze. "Well, I don't completely agree with your methods towards the end, Miss Schoenberg, but you handled yourself incredibly and your skills will be taken into consideration when your class timetable is finalized."

I nodded, and hesitated as I glanced warily back to Guardian Alto, who was about to pass out. That definitely wasn't wise, especially if he possibly had a concussion. "Do you want me to take him to the infirmary?" I asked.

Alberta peered over the remnants of the table and if my eyesight wasn't deceiving me, her lips quirked in a tiny display of amusement. "Oh, yes. Ashford, assist Miss Schoenberg with Guardian Alto." Alberta looked at me again, and gave a last praising nod before she brushed through the cluster of students to exit the cafeteria.

I felt completely and utterly uncomfortable underneath the heavily curious eyes of the students before me, and I felt so small with such a large group watching me like that. Not knowing how to approach the social predicament, I carefully began trying to tug Alto out of the table fragments.

"Let me help you out, Schoenberg," the redhead announced with a grin, and he manoeuvred around the table splinters to assist me in heaving up the dazed Guardian. "Tut tut, Stan, you got beaten by a girl," the redhead sniggered loudly as he wagged his finger at the dazed Guardian, who hadn't acknowledged the boy's teasing words in his state. Around Alto's sagging body, the redhead stuck his hand out cheerfully. "I'm Mason," he introduced him.

"Billie," I replied, shaking his hand before I hoisted my arm around Alto's torso, while Mason reflected my movement and copied. We began dragging Alto's flaccid figure across the cafeteria, and I opened my jaw wide, moving it around carefully before I winced in ache. The blow Alto had landed was vicious, and I knew it would bruise and join the other welts on my body.

Despite wanting to cower from the heavy gazes of my new peers, I looked up fleetingly at the growing crowd of hungry students, and I faltered momentarily when I recognized a face, that had unknowingly been standing beside where Mason was.

Rose.

She was the one, along with Dimitri Belikov, who had come across the haunting scene at the Badicas'. We hadn't talked much that day, understandably, but she was the one who pitifully held me while I cried. I would always resect her and be grateful for how she'd treated me, even if it probably was out of pity.

She met my eyes and gave me a smile and a wink. My lips tugged, but didn't form a complete smile. She didn't seem offended, and just turned to the rest of the group.

"Okay, stop staring – aren't you guys hungry?" She complained loudly, waving her arms around dramatically. My eyes lit with relief as everyone slowly tore their attention from me, and grudgingly began shuffling past me towards the waiting food.

Mason and I continued out the cafeteria, and I felt myself relax in relief now I was out of the vicinity of such an intimidatingly large group. They hadn't exactly immediately made me feel welcome – more like I was a strange species they couldn't understand. I wasn't, I was just like every other novice here. I wasn't different.

"You're an awesome fighter," Mason suddenly commented casually, shooting me a grin. "You have no idea how much people with worship you for knocking out Alto."

I blinked, and gave a small smile. "He's rusty in combat," I replied, my voice albeit brandished with cheekiness. Mason laughed.

"You're lucky he can't hear you," he told me, jiggling Alto's limp arm mischievously.

I opened my mouth, but found my words lost of my tongue as I recognized an approaching figure. My eyes widened in surprise, although it really shouldn't have been a shock. Striding down the corridor towards us was Dimitri Belikov. My eyes studied him carefully, and he slowed as he reached us, offering me a tiny smile as he nodded in greeting.

"Guardian Petrov informed me that you might need assistance with carrying Guardian Alto to the infirmary." He clarified his reasons for approaching us. I glanced at Mason, who was watching Dimitri with a strange expression on his face.

"Why don't you go to lunch?" I lightly offered to Mason, who glanced at me in surprise.

"Are you sure?" He questioned, and gave a wide grin of mischief. "I wouldn't mind watching Alto squirm in pain." A small, amused smile tugged at my lips at his words, but I didn't laugh.

"_Guardian_ Alto," Dimitri automatically corrected with disapproval. His words seemed to slide off Mason's shoulders.

"Go," I ordered gently, "You're hungry." I didn't have to question – he was a teenage boy who would, no doubt, have a monstrous appetite. Mason hesitated, before saluting cheekily.

"Make sure you give me a detailed review of Alto's recovery," he snickered.

Dimitri didn't bother to correct his informal way of speaking about Alto, and Mason headed back to the cafeteria as Dimitri took his place underneath Alto's armpit, supporting his weakened figure.

"Had a spar in the cafeteria, I hear," Dimitri said, glancing at me with a miniscule gleam of amusement.

I shrugged. "He asked to test my skills," I replied simply.

Dimitri didn't say anything else, and we finally reached the infirmary. Dr Olendzki, as I quickly learned her name was, immediately rushed forward and ushered us to place the dazed Guardian on a bed, and I quickly stepped out the way while the doctor fluttered around. A smirk twitched at my lips as I noticed his cheekbone was beginning to blossom with a bruise. I chewed my lip, hoping not to show any more amusement at the serious situation. He probably had a concussion, I scolded myself.

"I can escort you to the cafeteria," Dimitri offered, inclining his head willingly. I hesitated, and slowly shook my head with a light flush.

"I don't want to," I honestly confessed, embarrassed. I was afraid of facing the intimidating audience of the school body, yet I'd faced Strigoi just days ago.

Dimitri didn't appear bothered that I was being a sissy, and just nodded easily. "Guardian Petrov wanted to know if you would rather start classes this afternoon or after Christmas break."

I thoughtfully mulled over either option, wondering if it would be best to just start immediately and get used to the workings of St. Vladimir's. I didn't know if I really wanted to be bombarded with everyone so quickly, though, so maybe it would be better to try and get to know some people before classes so I could get somewhat comfortable at this new academy.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding in, I looked up at Dimitri as we stood at the doorway of the infirmary, well out of the doctor's way. "What's my timetable?" I asked him.

His lips gave way to a tiny smile of approval. "I can escort you to your classes if you would prefer. I doubt you've memorized the entire academy layout."

I smiled gratefully at him. "That would be great, thanks."

Dimitri told me he knew what my timetable was, and after I insisted I wasn't hungry, he began leading me to my first class at St. Vladimir's. It was Advanced Guardian Combat Techniques, and after my spar with Stan, I was still looking forward to combat. It was the simplest way to vent out my frustrations without talking about my problems. No one here would want to listen anyway. The thought jabbed hurtfully, and I shook it away before I overthought it.

"I'll observe this class," Dimitri told me. "Guardian Chase is the instructor, and you'll most likely spar in pairs for the duration of the lesson. He'll probably be watching you a lot, just to see where you're at in your training." I nodded, absorbing the information Dimitri offered.

We were early to arrive at the gym, and the other novices in my class were still at lunch, so Dimitri asked if I wanted to go through a few techniques with him while we waited. He went through a list of different techniques and combat moves, closely examining my stances and initial attacks during spars. He helpfully commented on what I needed to improve on, assisting with ways to better my techniques. I was more than appreciative that he took the time to personally help me out.

Eventually, the class began filing in the gym, most of which I didn't recognize, obviously. There was Mason, though – I could easily spot his unruly red mop of hair. Rose was also in my class, and she grinned when she spotted me with Dimitri on the mats. She headed over to us, visibly excited to start sparring.

"I've got her, Comrade," she assured Dimitri, and beckoned me to follow her. I hesitated, but Dimitri smiled encouragingly to me, and I hastily caught up with Rose. She led me over to the bleachers on the wall of the gym, and we approached Mason, who was laughing loudly with a sandy-haired boy.

"You've met Mase," Rose said, "but this is Eddie Castile."

The sandy-haired boy looked over at the mention of his name, and grinned at me kindly. "Nice to meet you, Billie – Mason's been bragging since lunch that he met you first." He laughed, "You've already made a name for yourself here."

I just smiled, shrugging helplessly. I certainly hadn't meant to grope for attention in any way – quite the opposite actually. I wanted to be left alone, out of the dramas of school. But I knew that if I wanted to make my father proud, and live up to the incredibly high standards he'd set, I was going to have to create a fabled reputation for myself. I preferred it not to be tainted by high school dramas, though.

"Seniors, let's get started," A man announced loudly, clapping his hands together. I assumed he was Guardian Chase. "Okay, we've got a new novice, Billie Schoenberg. Welcome her respectfully, and let's get paired up." He swiftly began calling out pairings of students, and they all began flittering around to find their own space in the gym.

"Hathaway, you can take Schoenberg to start with," he lastly announced to Rose and I. We both glanced at each other and nodded to his words, before we made our way to an opening in the littered pairs.

"Take it easy on me," Rose teasingly winked at me. I just smiled, shrugging. If I was going to show people how serious I was about being a Guardian, and that I wasn't just the girl who got lucky to have Arthur Schoenberg as her father, I was going to have to work my ass off. I was going to have to put in ten times the effort everybody else did, because I had a lot to prove.

I had a legacy to live up to.

* * *

**Okie, we've introduced Billie to a few characters, but there's plenty more to go! I don't actually like first introducing characters, but I like it when they get friendly and comfortable, then I can work with them easily. :) I hope you're all excited to see Billie and Rose spar together! What's gonna happen?! ****_And_**** we still have a very important character that Billie should meet very soon! ;) Make sure you review, even if it's just a smiley face or something! Just a few seconds out of your day would make ****_my_**** day. Thanks for reading, anyway! Xx**


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